Twilight Oneshots and Outtakes
by nickaroos
Summary: The is a space where I intend on placing outtakes and oneshots from my Twilight stories. This first one is a chapter I wrote for A Little More Heart, but ultimately I choose to cut. It is set in Esme's pov in 1911 and surrounds her mishap and meeting one Dr. Carlisle Cullen.


**So, I've had a couple of people ask for little oneshots or outtakes. Honestly, I haven't had the time to write them. Doesn't mean I won't though. Consequently, this is a collection that I expect to grow.**

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 **Outtake from: A Little More Heart.**

 **Originally meant to take place between chapter 7 and 8.**

 **Chapter Title: Not a Lady**

 **Esme's pov**

 **Rating: T**

 **Standard disclaimers apply.**

 **This was ultimately cut because it was unnecessary to the plot. I so adore this chapter and removing it was a tough decision. Hopefully, you'll enjoy meeting 16-year-old Esme Platt.  
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To say that I was a lady would be taking huge liberties with the word, well, according to my mother at least. Out of obedience I had learned the skills my mother insisted on ingraining in me that taught me how to keep a home, but, honestly, apart from cooking, and laundering, I was not terribly keen. Much to my mother's chagrin, as the only daughter on a farm, my father had been forced to ask for my assistance on occasion and although he never taught me skills meant for men, I picked up some. However, contrary to what either of them wanted me to learn, and more than anything really, I loved reading.

Despite my mother's reminders that "daydreaming does not get the chores done" and "those books are going to keep you from catching a good man," I would spend more time that was "good common sense" with my nose in a book. I consumed with passion every written word that I could find, especially when it was fiction, often reading them over and over, as most of the neighbouring farms did not have many books other than the Bible or primers. Fortunately, school had a decent selection of literature and my teacher, Miss Joseph, allowed me to borrow from her personal collection. She would even, on occasion, go into town and borrow a few from the library, which she would then permit me to read at school. My love affair with books was also responsible for the best day of my life, even though it did not seem that way from the beginning.

I had been sitting in my favourite branch of my favourite tree when one of the neighbours' sons, Orville, found me.

"What in Sam's Hill are you doing up there Esme?" he wanted to know keenly aware that my mother would be mightily displeased.

"Reading," I told him my tone indicating that it was a stupid question.

"Couldn't you do that as well on the ground?" he pressed.

"The view is better from up here," I explained with a smirk.

"Can I come up?" he asked gentlemanly but the playful tone I knew well told me that no matter the answer he would do what he pleased.

"Can you?" I taunted back not lifting my eyes from the page.

I heard him climbing, but could not see him until his hand was over my shoulder and he grabbed my book.

"Give me that!" I cried as I leaned in the direction that he was holding it.

It was too late. Unbalanced I tumbled out of the tree ripping my dress and hitting the ground hard with a crack.

"Are you hurt, Esme?" Orville asked concerned from above me his guilt apparent in his tone.

"I do not think so," I told him truthfully as my leg throbbed. "I do not feel well," I admitted as a wave of queasiness washed over me.

"I am sorry, Esme. If I knew you were attempting to fly, I would have cushioned your landing," he teased as he climbed out of the tree. "Here let me help you," he offered when he came near me. He stuffed the book between the back of his pants and shirt. Then he offered me a hand.

When I lifted my skirt a little, so I could make sure to secure my footing, my leg looked twice the size than it usually would be. The blood left my face and I bit back bile. "Orville, I think my leg might be broken," I said timidly.

Dreadfully, as soon as his eyes met my leg he looked like he would be sick.

We both stayed still staring at one another.

"Well," he started off tentatively after a few moments. "Do you think you could hop back on one foot, if you held onto me with support?"

I considered the offer. "I cannot say, but shall we try?"

Nodding he held out his hand and I allowed him to haul me up while I stood on my right foot. I tried to tuck the left foot back so I could hop, but doing so caused me excruciating pain, not to mention that since I had stood up, the throbbing in my broken foot had been so strong that I thought I might pass out.

"Orville, I do not think I can make it," I admitted grudgingly hating to show weakness. I am so sorry. I do not know what to do."

"Back down then?" he asked looking at me carefully.

I nodded holding back the tears that the pain created.

Carefully we got me back on the ground. The pain subsided the closer to the earth I got, so I laid down with my cheek on the grass. Mother was going to be absolutely displeased at the state of my dress.

"Perhaps it would be better if you kept your leg up. My ma told my brother that once." He paused briefly thinking. "Do not go anywhere," he told me half between a scold and a playful tone. "I'll just go get my brother Michael."

Nodding weakly I was not about to argue with him. Michael was eighteen, engaged to Mary Sue, and a strapping lad more than able to carry me if needed. Certainly lying down was helping me not throw up my breakfast. I tried to find a way to keep my hurt leg propped up, but it was tiresome, so eventually I just let it lay on top of my other leg, which was on the grass. I had dozed off by the time Orville came back.

"Sorry, Michael was out in the fields, but Luke could come," he told me as a way of a greeting.

My eyes fluttered open reminding my as soon as I did so of the throbbing my leg was causing. "Hey, Luke," I offered faintly. "Sorry, I don't feel so good," I slurred, as my mind was sluggish.

"No problem, Esme, I felt sick when I broke my arm," he mentioned casually as if this kind of thing was commonplace for him.

I attempted a smile. Even though he was three years my junior, and only six weeks younger than Orville, I had a sweet spot for him. He always seemed to know what to say to make someone else feel better. I could not recall him ever having a broken arm, but at this point my lack of memory was inconsequential.

They each got aside me, put their arms under me, wrapped their hands around the other's arms, and then lifted me creating a type of seat with them walking sideways. About halfway to the house we stopped and the boys rested.

"I am sorry to cause such trouble," I told them both.

"It is my fault," Orville argued sorrowful. "This is the least I could do."

I smiled faintly at him. "I forgive you, Orville. It's not like you did it on purpose."

His eyes shifted. "Yeah, cannot disagree there."

After a bit more we started up again. When we got to the house, they did not want to chance the steps, so they put me down in the grass, and Orville went to knock on the door.

"Yes, Orville?" my mother greeted him.

"Esme has been hurt," was all he said before he glanced down at me.

She pushed past him and ran down the stairs.

"Esme Platt, what happened to you?" she asked harshly glaring down on me.

Looked at the ground speaking softly knowing I was in trouble. "I fell," I admitting feeling her stare. "Out of a tree," I added guiltily.

"Esme Anne Platt how many times have I told you that it is unladylike to be climbing trees?" she admonished sharply.

"Many times, Mother," I replied with a sigh.

"Serves you right," she muttered under her breath her rate of speech increased until it was so quick I could not understand any more. She was also pacing. Then she suddenly stood still. "Boys, please put her there besides the house," she said in a voice so calm that it worried me.

Both Luke and Orville nodded staying mute probably intimidated by Mother.

"Afterwards, would you both be so kind as to go to your mothers and explain Esme's situation and ask for ice."

They did as she requested and about the time they had scampered away she had returned with ice and a towel.

"Esme, I must put ice on it. The ice will burn, but ice is better than losing a leg."

"Yes, Mother," I replied scared making sure to hold in my tears.

The ice was not as bad as my mother made it sound. The towel helped protect my skin and the ice actually reduced the pain, so it felt like welcomed relief even with the chilling sensation. Despite everything, I struggled to stay awake and Mother allowed me the rest saying nothing to me while she tended to me, which increased my worry about my punishment, as it was so unlike her.

She used all the ice usually reserved for the icebox and had my leg covered in the stuff for all of the afternoon. Orville and Luke had both returned with ice and as some would melt she would replace it with fresh. Neither had stayed long, although Orville had given me an apologetic look before scampering away. I knew, without her having to say so, that we would have to wait for Father before anything else would be done. As it was mid fall there was still harvesting being finished up as well as the preparations for the winter. It was an hour or more from sundown when I saw his frame.

"Good evening, Father," I called out.

"Good evening, Esme," he called back. "What on earth are you doing there? Why are you not helping your mother like a good girl?" he asked gently as he drew nearer.

"I hurt myself early in the afternoon. Mother put ice on it, but it might be broken."

I watched as his eyes grew in size and he drew in a breath. "Esme," he chided. "Do I want to know?"

"Probably not," I admitted ashamed my eyes on my hands.

"Let me wash up," he said in a tone I did not know how to place.

Nodding traitorous tears threatened to leave my eyes. Fighting them back I listened as he walked up the stairs and into the house.

His heavy footsteps faded away and then, after some waiting, came back towards me. He came down the stairs slowly and round to me, my mother in tow.

I sighed aware of the trouble that I was causing.

He took the ice off and examined my leg closely.

"Wiggle your toes," he ordered.

It was tougher than it looked, but I managed to move them slightly.

"Lift your leg."

I could lift it from the hip and did so.

He nodded.

"Can you bend your knee?"

"Yes, Father, but it hurt to before, so I have not tried in hours."

"Let us try now," he commanded offering me his hand. He gently pulled me up and I tried to bend my knee.

I could, but it caused the leg to pound and the pain to return. Although I attempted to hide my grimace, I was not terribly successful in my endeavour.

"That is enough," he stated as he began to lower me back down.

He looked at Mother. "It is a bad break. It needs to be set. I cannot do it. Dr. Coleman is gifted with many things, but breaks are not one of them. The only other option would be to take her into town and chance a hospital doctor."

She seemed to be weighing things eventually speaking. "A chance at someone who knows what they are doing and make sure she is not a cripple seemed better than the other options." A glance passed between them as if they were communicating something without words. What was painfully clear was that my actions would cost my father money we did not have to spare.

Father nodded solemnly. "I will get the cart. Mother, we will need a couple of blankets that you will not mind getting dusty."

She nodded her eyes evaluating. Then they both walked off.

I felt wretched for the trouble I was causing and the offense to their instruction I had made. Some how them leaving me combined with the fact that I could not follow made how I had dishonoured them even more apparent.

Mother came back with an afghan and two quilts. Then she left again. When she returned with three plates, my father had the cart and the horse. He lifted me easily enough into the cart and situated the ice and blankets so my leg was secure. Then Mother handed me a plate of food.

"Thank you, Mother."

Her eyes attempted to warn me of a great many things that she would not say. Other day I might have been able to understand her meaning, but at that moment I could think of anything but my leg, food, and the cost they were paying for my disobedience.

They got in the front and we started off. I ate as we travelled, although my appetite was slight. Small words about Fathers progress that day were made between them, but otherwise a heavy silence descended. It was truly dark by the time we were in the city. Father seemed to know how to get to the hospital. I tried to enjoy the ride imagining that I was Cinderella in a stagecoach off to a ball. It was a lovely image until we came up to the building I had never seen before.

"Wait here, please, Mother," Father requested sternly.

I could not see if she had nodded or not, but presumed that she had.

Father came and picked me up again caring me into the hospital.

"My daughter broke her leg. Where do I go?" he asked the lady at the front desk.

"Down the hall through the large double doors. A nurse will direct you from there."

I felt him nod and turn in the direction instructed. He must have been able to push the door open with his foot because soon we were at a nurse's station.

"Over here, please, sir," a nurse directed.

My father nodded curtly.

A curtain was pulled back and he placed me onto crisp clean white sheets that were far scratchier to the touch than the ones at home.

"Please wait here while I fetch the doctor," the Nurse stated authoritatively.

She then turned around quickly and left.

Looking up to him I stated softly, "Thank you, Father," hoping that in addition to my gratitude he heard my remorse.

He grunted in reply.

Not seconds later a different nurse came in and secured the sheets and placed a blanket on top of me.

"In case she goes into shock," the nurse said demurely before she stepped out.

Father grunted but said nothing.

We waited shortly before the nurse, who had directly Father to place me on this bed, returned. A few steps behind her was a man that shone like the stars. His beauty was so startling that I almost wept. It was more than his appearance, although nothing could rival it. It was like he expelled goodness and kindness with every breath. If this was the angel Michael, I could see why the Virgin Mary would have known immediately that this creature was not from earth. Had not the pastor once preached on how angels dwelt amongst us?

Long before I was ready his golden eyes left mine and looked over at my father. "What brings you in today?"

I wished he could have asked me. I would do anything to be able to converse with the good doctor. He was not being offensive. It was merely the way things were. My father would speak on my behalf.

"She broke her leg," Father explained. He sounded tired. I hoped he was not tired of me, but merely since he had been working hard. "She fell out of a tree while reading," he added scowling at the end his disapproval apparent.

He was not keen on me reading generally, but particularly in trees. In my younger years he had taken to disciplining me for my unladylike behaviour when Mother's strikes had seemed to make little dent. The problem had been that the swats were a price I had been willing to pay to read. Eventually, they had seemed to grow exasperated with my tendency to lose myself along with all sense of time in a book and had threatened to pull me from school. Quickly after that I had learned to get my chores done first and to hide my reading consumption, thus the tree. I fervently hoped that my carelessness did not get my book privileges revoked. That would be far worse that breaking a leg.

Feeling the doctor's gaze evaluating me I tried to merely sit calmly and pretend that I could not hear the conversation.

"Nurse, would you mind escorting Mr.?" I heard the good doctor request kindly.

"Platt," Father stated briskly.

"Platt," the doctor repeated with warmth in his voice, "to the waiting room."

His voice was like being immersed in a warm bath, it soothed my nerves and stole some of the tension from my body.

Father did not move a muscle.

"I promise to fetch you as soon as I have examined her and mended the break," the doctor reassured Father. His voice was stronger than before and left little room for argument, but it still calmed me.

Father nodded curtly and then walked out quickly. Certainly he would go and fetch Mother.

"So, Miss Platt, which leg did you break or did your reading manage to damage them both?" the doctor asked me.

His gentle teasing caught me off guard. We were not familiar with one another. What right did he have to tease me so? It was out of turn. The edges of his mouth twitched like he was trying not to smile and his eyes had a sparkle in them, but otherwise his expression was stern.

We stayed like this, glaring at one another, for longer than was appropriate. My mother had been certain to instil me with the rules of etiquette. I just seemed to nearly always forget them in the heat of the moment. Eventually I realized shamefully that I was in the hospital an embarrassment to my parents, spending their money best used elsewhere because of my own impropriety and stubborn refusal to conform to their expectations. Certainly glaring at a male doctor was not going help me reform or repent. I slowly moved my gaze down to my dress.

"Just the one," I told him quietly reproached. My words felt as if I were confessing my failure to a man of the cloth. I watched him out of the corner of my eye.

He nodded as if he had already suspected as such. "Would you mind lifting your skirt to your knees please?" His voice had returned to that soothing melody. I realized with horror that his voice could convince me to do nearly anything. Since I suspected that this was a test from God, I would have to be really careful. If I could behave like a lady around this doctor, then maybe that would be enough to keep my books.

He pulled down the bed sheets that had been placed upon me in one swoop. To my chagrin it exposed my lack of footwear. My mother was going to be mortified.

"How old are you, Miss Platt?" he asked startling me out of my embarrassment.

I wondered what this question had to do about repairing my leg.

"Sixteen," I answered while straightening up my body to its full length in defiance not liking where his questions were going.

"Sixteen seems old enough to be wearing shoes. Did your parents take them?" he asked. Only this time the question counteracted the soothing quality of his voice. He was making fun of me; I just knew it. It was boorish of him, but easily forgivable.

I could feel my cheeks warming from equal degrees of embarrassment and anger. But this was not the moment to display my ability to defend my honour. "No," I answered simply afraid that any more information would only be added against me. Then I realized if this was a test from God in some way, honesty was probably the key. I frowned at the prospect, but continued on anyway. "I generally run around the farm and climb trees without shoes, much to the dismay of my mother."

"I see," was all he said with a small smile. His response removed all guilt. It was if with those two words and a smile all my unladylike ways were forgiven.

He went and checked my right leg. He ran his hands along the skin and pressed at a few points. His hands were cold, but his touch did something odd to my skin like it warmed it from the inside of my leg. It was very confusing. Then he turned his hands to my left leg. The coldness of his hands was as soothing as the ice had been, yet everywhere he touched no matter how brief or light felt as if he had put my blood on a simmer. It was not unpleasant, but it did weird things. I could feel the simmer spread out from the points of contact. No man who had ever touched me had made me feel such things.

"I agree with your assessment, Miss Platt. Just the one is broken," he stated to whom I was not sure. "Fortunately, it is a clean break. I will need to set it in place so it will heal properly. That part will be quite painful. Then you will need bed rest while it mends."

Oh! He was speaking to me. He should not be allowed to touch me and talk to me. It was too distracting. I tried to recall everything he had said before opening my mouth. I felt as if I had confessed enough, but remembered how important truth was to God.

"Mother will be terribly displeased," was the only truthful thing I could think of to say.

I smiled at how displeased my mother would be to not have my help, that I would need to stay seated, and if I was lucky, that I could do what I loved the most, read. On the other hand, I then realized, she could have me do all the jobs that I hated like darning socks. That did not require my leg.

"Pleased or not, it will be doctor's orders," was his reply.

I was not paying attention to him any more as I was lost in the two possibilities of what my future recovery might hold.

"Are you ready to get the worst bit over?" he asked gently disturbing my thoughts.

I looked at him knowing the next part was not going to pleasant. Locking my body in place I prepared myself for the pain that was bound to follow. "Yes."

"Alright, let me get a nurse to assist."

Why had he not told me that in the first place? I let myself relax some. It knew it was coming soon, but somehow it being in the not-too-distant future was better than the present.

The doctor left me and for the first time in my life I thought things I had only read in books or heard rumours about. The first on my list of questions was if he was married. Angel or not, I could not imagine him single. I was betting that the nurses fawned all over him. I had watched women act ridiculous around a man and had promised myself I never would behave in such a manner. Men and women were not that different by my reasoning. Sure, we had different jobs and responsibilities, but when you get down to the basics we were more alike than anything else.

When I had mentioned that to my teacher, she had replied that I would make a great suffragist. Naturally, I asked what was a suffragist. That was how I learned that there were women marching so that I could one day vote. Father always represented the opinions of our house. For me to voice my own opinion in the ballot seemed inappropriate somehow, but I would be lying if I did not also admit that the idea pleased me.

The good doctor returned with a nurse.

He looked at me with his golden eyes and all pain that I had felt disappeared. Caught in the bliss his gaze brought me I barely caught his words. Something about the nurse holding me while he set the bone.

I nodded my agreement to whatever he had stated and attempted to hold my body as still as I could.

The nurse held my left leg at the thigh.

The good doctor dropped his eyes from mine and grabbed my calf with his right hand. His cold hands gave me the same internal warmth as before. I watched him carefully hoping he would look at me once more convinced that his gaze would make the operation painless. His left hand was then touching me. The warmth strengthened and grew. I focused all my attention on his hands and the sensation of his touch as his eyes were completely focused on my leg.

Then he looked up and gave the nurse a look I could not decipher, but decided meant that he was going to precede.

There was pain that screamed at me over the warmth of his touch, but as quickly as it came it went leaving me with the dull throbbing from before. He was done before I was even able to understand the pain. I tasted blood. I must have bitten my lip to contain an outburst. I was proud of myself that I had managed not to cry out, no matter how short the pain might have been.

The nurse left.

My good doctor looked up at me in a manner that I assessed as being shy.

"So what book were you reading that caused such a misadventure?" he whispered conspiratorially.

I wondered if I had found a literature lover.

"The History of Mr. Polly," I whispered back.

"Was it worth the fall?" he asked quietly in a serious way that I did not understand.

"Any book is worth it," I answered assuredly. It was not my favourite book by far, but reading in that tree was my most favourite tree, and despite the break, I would not have taken my actions back for anything particularly, since I would never be in a tree again.

"Do you have a favourite author?" he asked as if this were a normal thing to converse about.

It was a difficult question as there were too many books I liked. The reality was that my answer was scandalous. Remembering that the doctor might be an angel I dared not lie, so answered honestly but bashfully, "It is hard to choose, but perhaps Jules Verne."

He nodded and had a look like he understood why that would be the case.

Beginning to really study him I noticed that all of his mannerisms were off, like they were perfunctory in a way that I had never observed before. His eyes, when he took in my response, looked centuries old and contained a sadness in them that I could not understand. Overall, I concluded that he looked lonely. Certainly angels could not do their assigned tasks if everyone knew they were angels. There probably was some rule about blending in, yet not getting too involved. Not wanting anything untoward to happen to the good doctor, I took a solemn vow that I would never divulge his secret.

The nurse returned carrying bandages and other items I did not recognize. She held my leg at the thigh again while he put a splint and then the bandages in place.

"All right, it is all set," the doctor proclaimed.

I smiled assured by his words that the worst was over.

He smiled back hesitantly like he was not sure if smiling at me was a good idea. Maybe he could get into trouble for smiling at me? It was puzzling.

He turned and his eyes met the nurse's face. "Nurse Weaver, would you please inform Mr. and Mrs. Platt that the operation is complete."

My sole wish in that moment was that someone would tell me his name.

"Yes, doctor," was her reply. Swiftly she left.

He picked up a chart I had not seen before. Maybe they kept them attached to the end of the bed somehow. Then he started writing. He completed what he was doing and looked up at me.

His face was grave, but his eyes seemed delighted. "I am sad to inform you Miss Platt that you will need to remain with us."

"Oh?" I asked unsure of what else to say while I tired to decipher the conflicting elements of the good doctor. Before I could, though, I realized that his words meant that I was staying, here, in the hospital, with him. This had to be the best day ever. The mystery in front of me was far better than any read.

He nodded solemnly like he was apologetic. "Yes," he said kindly. "I will explain your treatment upon your parents' return."

I smiled trying to imagine watching my mother pretend to be calm while she probably just wanted to slap me. "That sounds just fine, thank you," I stated trying at least to mind my manners.

There was silence but a good one. It was like sitting with Luke or Orville. Nothing had to be said. Only this was better, as I never wanted it to end, where Luke or Orville would have eventually annoyed me.

Mother and Father walked back in, but without the nurse. Maybe she was not needed anymore.

"The bone is set, but it will need time to heal," he explained to my parents. "I would like to keep her here for a few days just to make sure it is healing correctly and there are no complications. When she does go home she will have to keep weight off of it for at least a month."

While he looked at my parents, I watched him. His blinking was almost on a timer. I had never seen anything so predictable. He moved his hands some when he spoke, but it too was stinted and unnatural. I wondered what his natural state would be. Constantly moving? Utter stillness? I could imagine him as a statue quite easily. I wondered why he would go against his natural way of being to tend to the sick. Did all angles get assigned jobs where they could help humans? It was admirable for sure, but curious. Perhaps the answer was simple: appearing human allowed him to complete his mission. I tried to conjure what it could be?

"A month?" I heard my mother gasp.

He looked at me. Fortunately my features had responded to my mother's gasp so he had not caught me observing him.

"Unfortunately so, Mrs. Platt." He had turned his gaze back to my parents. "The bone will take time to mend, but by God's grace she will recover fully and be healed soon."

Hearing the conviction in his voice it was clear that he did not doubt the existence of God. Few people spoke with such assurance. Perhaps he knew God in a way that others did not.

"Thank you, Doctor," Father said and extended his hand to shake the doctor's.

I wondered if the doctor's hands would create the same response in my father's hands as they had in my legs.

"You are welcome," the doctor replied.

"Yes, thank you Doctor," Mother added reluctantly.

"You are sincerely welcome, Mr. and Mrs. Platt," he told them with an earnest tone. "I will be back to check on her." Then the good doctor walked away.

"What are we going to do with you, Esme?" Mother asked sternly while she shook her head. "You are never going to be a wife if you do not learn how to behave properly," she whispered fiercely.

Father grabbed her arm and pulled her back towards him. "Mother, perhaps this is a conversation best served after Esme has recovered." His eyes looked at her softly.

"Yes, I suppose, so Father. You are right. This is not the time or place," she relented.

"Exactly."

She nodded in understanding.

"We will not be able to visit you, Esme," Father warned. "It is simply too far. I will enquire about your release date and be here to pick you up then."

Tears were threatening, but I held them back. "Yes, Father. I understand. Thank you for bringing me in."

He stepped towards me and patted my arm.

"You are my daughter, but your mother and I have indulged you long enough, Esme. You are sixteen now. Things will have to change."

"Yes, Father." Hanging my head I had already known that was coming.

He stepped back and my mother stepped forward. She leaned in. "I only want the best for you, Esme. Do not forget that," she whispered into my ear.

"Yes, Mother."

Father almost pulled her from the bed as they walked out.

Having never been apart from them before sadness seeped into me as I watched their retreating form. Collecting myself I focused my mind on other things. They would return. My present state and condition made it clear that I needed to put away, what my parents called, my unladylike ways. I would help on the farm more; I would be more responsible; I would do nearly anything to be able to keep my books. I could endue nearly anything as long as I was able to keep my stories, otherwise life would be unbearable. Sitting on the bed I imagined how I would go about showing my parents that I could be what they needed me to be for them, and to pay them back for this mishap.

My imagination brought forth stories of myself married with children. In my fantasy the good doctor was my husband and we had a house full of rowdy teenagers. It was a joyous life full of boy antics and girl's dresses, where I gardened and baked and laundered the clothes, but most of all there was love. It was a glorious pretend world.

 _His_ voice startled me out of my daydreams. "How are you Miss Platt?"

Trying to remember everything my mother had attempted to teach me about being a lady I responded demurely, "I am doing well, Doctor. Thank you for asking." For the first time I wished that I had paid better attention to her lessons.

"Well, it is not everyday I get to treat a sixteen-year-old tree climber." He smiled in a gentle playful way.

Turning myself serious I imagined that I was Miss Joseph. "No, I suppose you do not. There are not many of us mystical creatures left."

He looked uncertain as if he was not sure if he had accidently offended me, so I winked. I was not sure it was ladylike, but I did it with Orville on occasion and it had seemed to always lift whatever tension there had been between us.

He shook his head.

The motion did not seem to fit what I had said or my wink.

"I suspected as much," he said with an equally serious tone matching mine. "Then it is a great honour to meet, what must be, the last of a dying breed." And then he bowed as if I were a queen.

My face was filled with a smile from ear to ear while I giggled. It was as if he stepped out from the pages of one of my novels about royal households and honour and chivalry and knights and duals. I could not imagine anything more sublime.

"May I join you for my break?" he asked formally.

"Please do, my dear sir," I replied attempting to make my voice regal. "I would run out and fetch you some tea and biscuits, but sadly I am otherwise indisposed." Then I grinned unable to remain stoic.

He looked into my eyes and suddenly I was transported to a land where who I was today was precisely correct. I needed no lessons on etiquette. He would look at me exactly as he was right now everyday and it would be enough. My life would be full.

A nurse cleared her throat.

I had not heard her come in.

"You are needed, Dr. Cullen."

So, that was his name. I repeated it in my mind. It was a good name. Mrs. Cullen, I liked the sound of it. It was a good fantasy, but he was leaving and taking my pretend world with him.

He turned to her. "Lead on Nurse Kelly."

I watched him close the curtain separating me from the rest of the world. Not much later I found myself tired and fell asleep wishing I had a book to read. When I awoke there was some other doctor. The nurses aided me in my morning routine and then brought me breakfast. It was not terribly bad being waited upon, but I found my heart aching for Dr. Cullen and wondering if I would be graced by his presence again. As much as these feelings towards Dr. Cullen were pleasant, I kept chastising myself for them. I was a farm girl and he was a doctor. There was no way he could be interested in me and creating some fantasy was not going to be good for me long-term. Despite knowing this, I seemed incapable of stopping indulging in my daydreams altogether.

After lunch and the use of the facilities, I came back to my bed to find some books left on top of the bedside table. I could not help but imagine that they were a token of affection from my good doctor. That idea was far better than some nurse had taken pity on me. I browsed through them to decide where to start. They were eclectic and none that I had ever read before.

There was one about the buildings of Europe and decided to start with that one. Unfortunately, the book contained a great many words I did not understand like basilica or gothic, but I enjoyed studying it nonetheless. As it often happened when I read, time became meaningless and the world of the printed word surrounded me.

"Good evening, Miss Platt," a gentle voice greeted me.

I had been so lost in the story that I had not heard him enter. I looked up in surprise and embarrassed that he had caught me unawares, yet could not help the huge grin that spread across my face from seeing him again.

Fortunately, I recalled my manners. "Good evening, Dr. Cullen." I smiled pleased he had visited. "Would you believe the most incredible stories that magically appeared on my bedside table today?"

"Hmm," he mused his lips coming together in the most glorious way. "Must be some of the magical powers you possess. Did you conjure up anything good?" he asked seriously, but his eyes were twinkling again.

I decided that yes my good doctor had cured my ailment of no books.

"Well," I blurted out and then paused to collect my thoughts. "Honestly, I did not get very far with the collection of Shakespeare; too dramatic. Not my style at all. The history of Europe was interesting. I especially enjoyed looking at the different pictures and seeing the different buildings. Right now I am engrossed in Sherlock Holmes. I am enjoying him immensely."

"Do you mind?" he asked while he waved his hand towards the chair.

"No, please," I responded assuredly. Then remembering my mother's scolding I realised that I was being too bold for a lady.

"I am curious," he started and then paused, "what about the buildings interested you?"

I was not sure if I wanted to make him my confidante. He seemed honest and pleasant enough, but only a curtain surrounded me. What if my neighbours heard? My parents would surely be the laughing stock then. Despite the inherent risks, something deep inside of me desperately wanted to reach out to this man that was simultaneously more human than anyone I had ever met and the most inhuman creation I could have ever imagined.

"Well … truthfully?" I pressed wanting to know if he really wanted to know, if he was just being polite or, worse, teasing me.

"Naturally; anything less that total honesty is just dull," was his answer. Then he smiled.

I weighed the consequences once more, my mother's advise, and what Dr. Cullen had just suggested.

"Indeed. Well," I started confirming in myself that I would risk this small admission. "In truthfulness, I enjoyed the make of buildings, how the structure interacts with its surrounding, and the use of light. I also enjoyed the art of the building. The decorations used around the windows or on the top of the doors particularly interested me. If such a thing were possible, I would go study it at a college."

It was just not fair the things I was not allowed to do and the limitations placed on me just because of being a girl. At the same time I was in the hospital for rebelling against these rules. Maybe my mother was right. They were there to protect me. That did not stop me wishing that I could go and study, though. Learning more sounded like heaven to me.

"What are your obstacles to doing just that?" he asked interrupting my thoughts.

This seemed like a stupid question. Had not everyone been telling me the same answer for years? Then I remembered my conclusion that Dr. Cullen probably was not human. Maybe he really did not know.

Giving him the benefit of the doubt I told him, "I am a girl" just like everyone else had told me.

"I was aware of that, Miss Platt. I am a doctor after all," was his answer. He smiled reassuringly, yet he looked confused. Maybe he really did not know how things worked, which only confirmed my suspicions.

Deciding to take it upon myself to educate him I explained, "Dr. Cullen, perhaps you are not aware, but girls are not allowed to study those subjects."

He seemed to contemplate my answer. "There is not an exception?" he asked after a few minutes his face looking oddly sad.

Wondering what girls were allowed to study where he came from I shook my head. For a moment I had allowed myself to imagine living in a place where being a girl did not stop you from doing things. My eyes threatened to water, but I refuted to allow them.

"No." I thought about a conversation I had with my teacher one day. "Maybe my daughter could, but it is simply not an option for me."

The thought that the world might change in this way always had given me hope. I could not pursue my dreams, but perhaps my daughter would not be as constricted as myself. I decided, since we were on this truth exercise, to tell him the equally ridiculous dream I had.

"Since I cannot do that, I entertained the idea of going to college to become an art teacher. It would not be as exciting, but it would be something."

He smiled in a way that filled his face and brightened the space between us. "I imagine you to be a wonderful teacher."

Taken back by his compliment I could not, for the life of me, understand why he had thought to say such a thing. Was he indicating his attraction to me or merely being honest and kind?

Finally remembered my manners I told him, "Thank you."

Putting the book down I entangled my hands together trying to figure out what this conversation might mean. Would he want to court me? Would others of his kind allow that? Would my parents allow it? There were a great many obstacles it seemed, but like my novels I imagined that love would conquer all.

"You are welcome, Miss Platt," he told me with a polite smile that hid mysteries.

I smiled back politely.

"Shall you, then, be heading to college to study to be an art teacher?" he wanted to know.

"No. I do not think so," was my honest answer.

My parents did not really see the value in a girl getting an education. The only reason I had my high school diploma was because my mother hoped it might make me more attractive to one of the better off families who expected their women to know their letter and numbers.

"Oh," was his reply. He looked uncomfortable.

I took in a deep breath realizing that he probably would not have understood. Would I, if I were visiting an alien land? I did not mind being his teacher.

"My parents think that higher education is wasted on a girl. They are hoping for me to find a suitor soon, preferable one willing and able to take over the farm as I am their only child."

He said nothing and shortly after stood and silently putting the chair back. I noticed how he made practically no noise in his movements. This motion with its lack of noise allowed me to conclude that stillness was most likely his natural state. Would it not be odd to purposefully make noises you need not to? Maybe it was the opposite of Verne's From the Earth to the Moon. He was a Moon inhabitant that had come to visit Earth.

He went into his doctor tone and his whole appearance changed. There was no apologetic look, no remorse. It was if he placed on a mask that he knew almost better than the side of himself he had just shown me.

"Glad to hear you are healing well, Miss Platt," he stated. "It seems to me that you have found a productive means in which to occupy your time during your stay here and it is doing you well. If you need anything, do not hesitate to search out a nurse and ask for her assistance."

His behaviour was confusing. It was if he was acting from a script that he had been given in advance and was already in act three while I still was in act one.

Right then footsteps could be heard.

My eyes widened in understanding. He must have known the nurse was approaching before I did.

"Yes. Thank you, Dr. Cullen. I will be sure to do that," I stated as if our conversation had not transpired.

Then, for the briefest second, the Dr. Cullen he had been moments before shone through and he winked at me right before returning to Doctor Mode and turning to face the nurse.

"You are needed Dr. Cullen," was all that the nurse said.

"Certainly, Nurse McCarthy" was the last thing I heard before he left.

I spent the rest of the hour trying to figure out all the possible ways that he might have known the nurse was approaching. The top of my list was heightened hearing, then telepathy or something like that; then there were the more abstract sixth-sense type things. Eventually I gave up and went back to my book before I grew too tired.

Dr. Cullen was not there when I woke up. He must work the night shift. I wondered why. Was it the quiet, or the solitude, or the fact that there were fewer humans around at night, or that he was a junior doctor, at least he looked like a junior doctor? I had no good answers. Mostly I was left alone the whole day. I read, ate, and a nurse helped me do my business when needed. I liked the reading all day part, but I was growing irritated with just sitting. I missed being outdoors. Dr. Cullen finally paid me a visit at half past eight in the evening.

"Well good evening there, Dr. Cullen," I greeted him as soon as I saw his hand on my curtain. His skin was unusually pale, but it had an iridescent quality to it that could not be named.

As he pulled the curtain back a shy smile appeared. He actually looked a little nervous. "Good evening, Miss Platt. How are we feeling this fine evening?" he greeted me.

I smiled at how his greeting seemed perfectly human on one hand while its tone did something to my insides that were completely unnatural. Even if I had not committed a solemn vow, I doubted if asking someone if they were inhuman was ladylike behaviour.

"I am well thanks to you. The earlier doctor tells me that I have healed enough to return to my home tomorrow when my parents are able to retrieve me."

He smiled politely, but he looked sad underneath.

I wondered what might have made him sad.

"I am glad to hear that you are well enough to return home," he stated. He sounded genuine, but once again there was a curious sadness in his tone.

I had spent the whole afternoon, since being told that I would be leaving tomorrow, trying to figure out what to say to Dr. Cullen. I wanted to see him again and to tell him so, but I had my mother's voice in my head telling me what was expected of a lady. I honestly did not care if Dr. Cullen was human or not. He was simply the most kind, honest, funny, compassionate, caring, intelligent being I had ever met.

I could not help but wonder if his sadness was because he also did not want our time to end. Were interspecies relationships even possible or allowed? Maybe there were rules about these types of things? Could courting be forbidden? If I was on an alien planet pretending to be like the inhabitants, then it was probably a secret. Could he tell me his secret? Would he be punished if he did? I felt like I was in one of my novels and I did not know what to do. I finally caught myself muttering and remembered that he might have super hearing, so shut my mouth. I looked up at him scared and embarrassed about what I was about to do.

"Well," I began, "you see," I stated and paused to calm my nerves, "Dr. Cullen," I started collecting my thoughts once more, "um, I was wondering," I uttered my nerves getting the better of me. "Well, if you would be willing to come and inquire about me in my home in a few days time?" I asked in a rush.

I was not sure that I had been totally coherent due to my nerves, so I hoped he understood me and then took to staring down at my hands afraid of what I might see cross his face.

Finally his voice reached me putting me out of my misery. "I am not sure that is a good idea, Miss Platt."

Of course not, I thought bitterly. There were probably rules. He was trying to be polite about it.

He said some other things but I was not really listening as my mind spiralled in disappointment while simultaneously it tried to find a solution. My treacherous eyes were threatening tears. I was not sure why I was so disappointed. I had known that the chances of him calling upon me were close to impossible, but still the let down hurt. My traitorous heart dared to hope again when he resumed speaking. Fortunately, I began taking in his words again.

"Even if I was not leaving town, Miss Platt, I will not be here when your father arrives in order to garnish his permission to call on you."

Then I was irritated. All this time he had been acting like he did not know social etiquette and took this moment to remind me that it was my father, not me, who had to approve of him calling. Not to mention it was a stupid excuse for his no. He had asked for my honesty while giving me the flimsiest of excuses. Underneath my anger was disappointment. Maybe there were no rules and he simply was not interested in me in that way. Knowing me, I was probably allowing my imagination to run away into something ridiculous, after all he was a doctor and I a farm girl. I had known from the beginning that such a courtship was unlikely everything else being equal.

Unfortunately, my ire won out and I muttered under my breath, "I would dare say my mother would be glad for me to have any male callers at all, Father's permission or not."

I knew my statement was not lady like and with my luck he did have super hearing, so that even if no one else would not have heard me, he might have. I was trying to imagine how this moment could be more humiliating.

After many long minutes as I watched his attention appearing elsewhere, he cordially said, "Well, Miss Platt, I am glad to hear that this will be your last night here. Good night."

Then he turned and exited closing the curtain behind him. I had to wonder if the nurse had been on her way again.

"Good night, Dr. Cullen," I whispered guessing he could probably hear me.

Shortly after I heard the nurse's voice in the background.

I spent the rest of the night going over what had transpired. He had looked sad. I had to hope that he wanted to spend time with me, but could not for some reason. It had a very 'star-crossed lovers who cannot ever be together due to forces outside of their control' feel to it. I decided to be totally and irrevocable unladylike and make my sentiments plain in case he really did not know human 1911 American protocols.

I asked the nurse for some paper and a writing utensil. After much internal debate I settled on:

 _Dear Dr. Cullen,_

 _In case you change you mind and have the courage to ask my father when you arrive, I can be found at North Willow Lane five miles in the south-westerly direction._

 _Kindly,_

 _Miss Esme Platt_


End file.
